She Cannot Dream Anymore
by Taylor Hayes
Summary: River is trying not to fall asleep, because if she does - she'll be sucked into everyone else's dreams. What she needs is someone to keep her calm, and give her a sense of permanency. pre-Rayne.
1. She Cannot Dream Anymore

She Cannot Dream Anymore

a/n Yeah, I don't really have plans to continue adding chapters or anything. And it's from River's POV, which is a bit out there. This is my take on a phrase I heard and adapted, because it made me think of River.

The girl -crazy, genius, gifted, cursed, sister, mei mei, witch, moonbrain, addled, graceful, _crazy_- stares up at the metal plating above her head, as she lays on the catwalk. She can hear everyone else -all asleep in their bunks, dreaming of love and hope and sex and pain- but she can't seem to sleep.

No. She doesn't _want_ to sleep. As much control as she _doesn't_ have over what she hears during the day, while she is unconscious, it was even worse. She can never stop herself from falling into other dreams, dreams that aren't hers. And then the dreams rip at her, and she rips at the dream. It isn't just the girl who is hurt by this, but crewmate (_friend?_) dream she is dragged into as well.

The girl can not quite remember what it is like to dream her own dreams.

When she was a child, vague memories dreaming of summer and vibrant colors and dancing with butterflies. But the older she became, the less time was spent sleeping. There were better things to do then sleep. Practicing pirouettes, or figuring books of complex nonlinear equations. Sleep was unimportant - wasted time. There was too much to learn and do.

And then, in the Academy - sleep induced and dreams controlled. The locks of her brain broken, with scalpels and scars and needles, and those not her where inside, twisted how her mind worked. She can no longer speak clearly. She can no longer sleep _without_ dreaming. And the dreams are never hers. Always, always, they are another's. For so long, they were dreams of soldiers and scientists and Academy "classmates". Then, the visiting began. People came, heads filled and bursting, holding things the girl does not want to know or hear or see. People brought to stare and prod as she slept, until their thoughts clambered in _her_ mind.

The girl's sleep becomes a place of war and terror and atrocities and secrets. And none of them belong to her.

And now she lays on the catwalk, tries to convince herself she is real, the world is real. The soft, violet dress she wears, the cold, crisscross metal pressing against shoulders and back and legs, the soft brush of tumbled curls, smells of cooking and fuel and medicine, silence threatened, cracked, broken only by sound of her shiny firefly's engine humming softly, distant, sounds of crewmates, (friends?) shifting in rest, sighing and stretching - How to prove _these are real_, and not simply dream someone who is not she pours into her mind?

Then, something changes. The silence of the ship, her firefly to dance with, remains. But something is different, and she cannot see or hear what.

Restless panic settles in, needling through thin, pale skin, dripping heavily into fragile, fortified bones, like ink or medicine. If this is not real- If this is a dream-

Eyes go wide, and she pushes stealthily to bare feet, sneaking through the passages of her firefly, moving on whispering tiptoes from first area to next. Watching, waiting. Anticipating attack- rape- being eaten. Or worse, told to lie down, hearing as everyone she cares for, everyone she could love (_friends?_), listen to the voice and lie down and will not get up.

Stop sexing, stop laughing, stop fighting, stop teasing, stop moving, stop eating, stop breathing, stop being.

_Stop_.

She can fight Reavers, Federation, crooks and thieves, enemies and scientists, threats.

Girl cannot fight dreams. Cannot fight death.

The girl is in the kitchen, eyes search every shadow, follow each movement as her dancing firefly tilts and sways, moving through the vasty dark. She steps, spins, tilts, freezes, repeats.

She decides perhaps her brainpan is confused. Perhaps she remains at the Academy. Reality is no reality. Ge ge Simon never came. Captain Daddy and Friend-Shepherd, Kaylee-lamb and Pretty 'Nara, Funny Dinosaur Man and Warrior Woman and the-Ape-who-is-Jayne-Man. All are dreams. Torment. Torture. Create for control.

No! They cannot have her! The girl's mind belongs to the girl, no matter what is forced in.

If only she could believe...

The girl is crying, curled in on herself, wishing the world away, wishing the world to stay. Arms -long, big, muscle on muscle, _warm_- catch the girl, pull her from her endless fall.

Looks up into scruffy face. Into anger and worry.

"What the sphincter hell are you doin' bawlin' like some idiot girlie in the middle o' the gorram night?" Voice not loud, but not quiet. Just _is_. Is Jayne-Man all over, all the way through.

He is a hot red, a resigned brown. Soul orange - soft and loud. Same as hat mother of Jayne-Man knitted.

The girl has held that hat when the Ape did not know, felt the love, heard the care, missed the mother. And almost wished.

But wishes do no good.

She hears Jayne-Man speak again, annoyance.

Shakes head, lets rain continue falling from eyes. "She cannot dream anymore."

No more is said. But, somehow, impossible!, yet the Jayne-Man nods. Understands?

Pulls her close, and red and brown and orange wash over her, shield her like a child's blanket, keeping monsters and fears away.

"Go ta sleep, moonbrain."

Jayne-Man, Big Ape, Mercenary and Killer and Friend (_Friend!_), is only ever Jayne.

Sinking into Jayne-Man's colors, she sighs. And finally, dreams safely in a castle Jayne-Man built for himself, his mind. And now she is invited.

Moat filled, drawbridge up, guards at towers.

Inside, beautiful little courtyard, where the girl sleeps. And the Jayne-Man watches.

Protector? Knight? Friend.

And she can dream.

fin.


	2. Dancing

_a/n Follow up to "She Cannot Dream Anymore". Yet more scattered River thoughts._

**Dancing**

The girl danced, twisted, spun (_toes pointed, limbs stretched, muscles strong, mind focused_) – free for moments. Felt like flying, running. Once, watchers, family on pretty Firefly's thoughts would crawl, bang, crash in, overcome the girl's own imagings.

Now, now, Jayne-man watched. Sat on long seat, ignored bar with weights, ignored angry, puzzled looks from Ge ge and Captain Daddy. Watched girl. Noticed steps, thought of _grace_ and _beauty_ and _crazy_ and _dangerous_. All familiar. All welcome. All orange and brown: warm, cozy, home.

No more tripping, catching on unwanted thoughts. No more falling over own feet.

Crew still thought, still lived. Adventurous blue and calming green. Silky violet, blushing pink, friendly white. Enthusiastic yellow and fierce crimson. Orange and brown was warm. Orange and brown was stronger. Was protecting.

_Safe in castle, waking, sleeping, playing…_

Dancing.

Jayne-man kept the girl free.

Still addled, still knew too much. Brainpan still too full.

Now, though – respite. Able to breathe, move, dream, think as self.

Dance.

Danced gratitude and "thank you" to Jayne-man.

Danced free.


End file.
